Just a Phone Call Away
by OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles
Summary: When Eames calls him, crying, Arthur knows it's serious.


**Just a Phone Call Away**

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Disclaimer: I do not own Inception of the characters

Warnings: M/M pairing, hinted rape

Rating: M

Pairing: Arthur/Eames

Summary: When Eames calls him, crying, Arthur knows it's serious.

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Arthur checked the caller ID before he answered the phone. "What do you want, Eames? I told you to only call me if you had a job."

Silence answered him.

"Eames?" Arthur huffed, annoyed at being called in the middle of the night.

A shuddering breath.

Arthur's eyebrows furrowed. "Eames, are you alright?"

"Arthur," Eames croaked, voice ragged. Then Eames began to cry.

Arthur felt his stomach drop as he clutched the phone tighter in his grip. "Eames, what's wrong?" Eames just cried harder, violent sobs that seemed to shake his entire body. Arthur felt his stomach clench with fear. Eames was an emotional man who had no qualms about making his feelings obvious, but Arthur had never heard him cry before. "Eames, you need to talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

"I..." Eames' voice wavered.

"Are you hurt?" Arthur questioned slowly, doing his best to remain calm. He would be no use if he started to panic. "_Eames_," he had to press when muffled sobs continued to be his answer.

"Yes," Eames said weakly, breath catching as he coughed and then groaned.

"Okay, where are you?" Already Arthur was changing into some suitable clothes and grabbing a small bag, stuffing it full of a few essentials. He had only been back at his apartment in Los Angeles for a week and had been planning to rest for a few weeks. But he wasn't going to sit at home after a phone call like this.

"Vegas," Eames struggled out. Despite the seriousness of the situation Arthur felt his heart jump slightly at knowing Eames was only a state away from him. "The Bellagio on the strip."

"Alright," Arthur zipped up his bag and turned his laptop on to check flight times. "I'm going to book a flight."

"Arthur..." Eames sniffled. "I want you to know, just in case..."

"_Eames_," Arthur cut him off quickly, his heart quickening at the Forger's words. Eames was speaking too seriously for Arthur's liking; it had to be life threatening, and Arthur wouldn't be there for a few hours. "Call a hospital. Or security and they'll get someone."

"What about the PASIV?" Eames' voice cracked and Arthur could tell he was on the verge of tears again.

"I'll deal with it," Arthur said smoothly. He hoped Eames had the PASIV safe so no one would stumble upon it, but if things turned bad Arthur had the money and the skills to make people look the other way. He had just booked a flight that would be leaving in an hour. Now he was in the process of grabbing the last few essentials and getting ready to call a taxi. "I'm going to hang up," he warned. "When I do you're going to call for help and I'm going to call a taxi."

"Don't leave me," Eames begged.

Arthur's heart jumped up into his throat, making it difficult to swallow. "I'm just a phone call away," he promised. "As soon as you call for help you can call me back. I'll stay on the line until they come." Arthur got no response. "_Do you understand_?" he punctuated each word, aggravated in his worry.

"Yes," Eames whispered.

"Good," Arthur said. "Call someone," he demanded, and then hung up. He phoned a taxi and headed down to the apartment lobby, waiting just inside the doors watching the street. The world looked abandoned at this time of night, most people asleep in bed. Not rushing off to Vegas after a call from a crying co-worker. Arthur's phone vibrated in his pocket where he was clutching it and he brought it up to his ear. "Tell me what I want to hear."

"I called," Eames promised. "They're sending someone."

"Good," Arthur sighed in relief. Just then his taxi pulled up at the curb and Arthur stepped out into the night chill. "I'm on my way to the airport now. I should land in two hours. You can give the hospital my number as your emergency contact and tell them to inform me where you get taken."

"Okay," Eames murmured, sniffling again and whimpering. "Arthur, just in case..."

"Stop talking like that," Arthur ordered harshly. Eames stopped talking but Arthur could hear him beginning to cry again. Arthur bit his lip. "Look," he began, softer this time. "You're just going to have to hold on until I get there, okay? I'm not flying out at two in the morning just to have you give up on me."

"I need you," Eames confessed.

For years Eames had flirted with Arthur, insisted that he needed Arthur the way the world needed the sun. This time the sincerity in Eames' voice had a shiver running down Arthur's spine. "I'm coming," he assured, making sure his words were as warm and certain as he could make himself sound.

Through the phone Arthur could hear a sudden loud knocking on a distant door; help had arrived long before Arthur would be able to do anything. "I don't want to hang up," Eames said, sounding scared now.

"They're here to help," Arthur soothed. "Just go get the door."

"I can't," Eames cried.

Arthur couldn't remember the last time he had felt so scared for someone else's wellbeing. What had happened if Eames could not even stand up to get the door? What would Arthur find when his plane landed? He swallowed down all his fears, attempting to comfort. "Security will be with them. They'll get the door open."

Sure enough, Arthur could hear the door opening and voices calling out into the room. "Arthur," Eames called weakly.

"It'll be okay," Arthur told him.

He didn't get to hear Eames' response since security and the emergency responders crowded in around Eames then. Luckily Eames passed off the phone to one of them so they could tell Arthur which hospital they were taking Eames to. Arthur refrained from asking details on Eames' condition, not trusting his own ability to sit calmly in the airport if he knew how hurt Eames was. They hung up on him once he had the hospital address, needing to focus on helping Eames.

Arthur forced himself to take deep breaths as the taxi pulled up to the airport and he checked in. The airport was nearly deserted at this time of night, making it easy to pass through security and load onto the small plane. Arthur had just been about to go to sleep when Eames called but he couldn't sleep on the plane. He spent the majority of the flight with his forehead resting against the window, eyes unseeing as they stared out at the darkness sailing by below him.

Arthur had never really bothered to put a label on what he felt for Eames. Now he couldn't stop himself from labelling every thought and feeling. Admiration for the best Forger in the business. Trust for the co-worker that had proven his worth time and time again. Equal parts aggravation and curiosity for the man who always seemed to know the right thing to say but sometimes decided to ruin the moment by flirting instead. Genuine concern for Eames, who had somehow become one of Arthur's most trusted friends and allies after their years together.

Despite thwarting Eames' flirtations over the years and only interacting with him professionally on jobs, Arthur was now suddenly forced to imagine what things would be like without Eames. He didn't like the answer at all. Knowing Eames had been seriously injured, and that things could have been worse, Arthur thought about what he would miss. He would miss the random texts Eames sent that proved he was thinking of Arthur, and the jokes and smiles that always managed to cheer Arthur up even during a difficult job. Arthur had never taken the time to appreciate any of it, until now.

A part of Arthur couldn't help but wonder about his sudden shift in feelings for Eames, but when he thought about it he realized that it was less a shift and more of a general acceptance. He had always told himself that he didn't need or want the Forger in his life as long as Eames was alive and well in the world somewhere. And continued to text him, and drag him in on jobs where they would work together. Now Arthur was ready to admit that he didn't just want Eames alive _somewhere_; he wanted Eames happy and _close_, by Arthur's side.

The taxi could not drive fast enough to suit Arthur even though the roads were relatively clear in the middle of the night until they approached the main Vegas strip. Arthur attempted to call Eames' phone again but no one picked up. The late hour did nothing to calm the busy hospital when Arthur arrived, leaving him forced to wait longer than he intended to find a nurse and sign the proper forms to be allowed to see Eames.

The bright florescent lights made Arthur's tired eyes burn as he was led down one of many hallways, his mind dutifully memorizing the map though he had no intention of leaving alone. The nurse stopped him outside of a room and Arthur wavered on the balls of his feet, every instinct screaming at him to push forward. "He's sleeping right now; the doctor gave him something. But he needs the rest so try to not wake him."

Arthur nodded his understanding. Now that he was here, just a door between him and Eames, Arthur would say just about anything to gain entry. All he could think about was Eames' scared words and pained sobs through the speaker of his phone. The nurse finally opened the door and Arthur stepped in slowly, suddenly hesitating in fear of what he was going to find.

It was both better and worse than Arthur had been imagining. With the way Eames had been talking Arthur had worried Eames was drawing his final breaths, which didn't seem to be true, but at the same time Eames was still in bad shape. Eames was bundled up in the white hospital sheets but any skin Arthur could see on his face and hands, which rested at his sides on the bed, was mottled with bruises and cuts.

The breath left Arthur's lungs in a rush like he had been kicked in the gut, and he quickly moved to the side of the bed. He forced himself to take in every detail and promised himself that he wouldn't allow this to happen again. Eames had a black eye, bruised cheeks and a swollen jaw on the left. His bottom lip was split and scabbed over with dry blood, and he had a few other shallow cuts across his jaw and temple. Then Arthur's gaze dropped and focused in on the ring of bruises around Eames' neck in the distinct shape of hands.

Arthur raised a hand and then froze; he didn't want to accidentally cause more pain. He slowly sat down in the chair by Eames' bedside and, with another deep breath to calm his nerves, he took Eames' hand in his own. Arthur laced their fingers together tentatively and then let their joined hands rest on the bed as he watched Eames' chest rise and fall rhythmically. He wanted to cry too, his heart aching, but he held it in.

The nurse was still in the room, watching them but without judgement. "Mister Eames was only able to give us some basic details about his condition," she explained softly, voice low to avoid disturbing Eames. "Normally I would not be telling you this but he specifically said when he was brought in that he wanted you informed..."

Arthur sat in silent horror as he listened to the nurse. They didn't know the circumstances surrounding the situation – Eames would not identify his attackers – but Eames had been forced to explain his injuries to be properly treated. Four men had followed Eames back to his hotel room and had forced their way in. Eames was a fighter but the numbers were against him. They had beaten him down and then pinned him to the bed.

The nurse was thankfully brief in the rest of her explanations, but Arthur shuddered anyway. He forced himself to keep his eyes open until they stung with dryness and welled up with tears that he blinked away. Arthur refused to close his eyes, his imagination too vivid after years of dreaming to be trusted with this sort of imagery. The rage building up inside him was blinding. The only thing that kept him from standing up and tracking Eames' attackers down was the warm press of Eames' palm against his own.

His priority was Eames. Everything else could come later.

When the nurse was done explaining Eames' injuries to him there was a long pause of silence. Then she cleared her throat. "The police will want to speak with him once he has recovered somewhat. Do you have any idea of what Mister Eames might have been involved with? Does he gamble?"

Arthur clenched his jaw with anger; even though he knew the nurse was not trying to insinuate that Eames had _deserved_ this, he still felt protective on Eames' behalf. It took him a moment and a few deep breaths to be able to speak again. "Sometimes, but he's always been smart about that sort of thing."

"Some say Vegas changes people," the nurse suggested, though Arthur could now hear the hesitance in her tone. She only wanted to understand, to find an answer so that the attackers would pay.

Arthur looked down to his hand twined with Eames' own. Pale and tanned skin, but both scarred and calloused from a few jobs gone wrong in their time. For years he had turned Eames away, believing that Eames was only teasing, or that a relationship would hinder their ability to work, or that Arthur didn't care for Eames in that way. It was only now when he allowed his hand to hold Eames' that he learned how incredibly _perfect_ it felt.

He didn't look up from where their hands were joined. "Perhaps people are only looking for an excuse to change."

The nurse excused herself after that and Arthur was left alone. Eames was still asleep and the sky outside the small solitary window was still dark except for the lights of the street below. Alone in the room with Eames, their fingers still laced, Arthur allowed himself to lean forward and rest his head on the mattress. He slept lightly, mind submerged just below the surface of sleep. Even in sleep he maintained some consciousness of Eames' skin against his own, and he was roused immediately when he felt Eames' hand twitching against Arthur's hold.

Arthur lifted his head from the mattress and blinked away sleep slowly. The sky visible through the window was a pale gray, just hinting at the promise of dawn. When he glanced back to the bed Arthur felt his breath catch, seeing Eames' eyes – red-rimmed from crying but the same beautiful blue gray – watching him. "You're here," Eames croaked. Arthur couldn't help but think that his throat was probably ragged from trying to scream for help.

"Of course I'm here," Arthur chided lightly. "I told you I would be."

"I'm sorry," Eames whispered. Arthur watched as the tears welling up in Eames' eyes finally spilled down his cheeks.

"Why are you apologizing?" Arthur questioned, eyebrows furrowed.

Eames met his gaze and then glanced away, body shaking with silent tears. "You shouldn't have to deal with this."

Arthur squeezed Eames' hand with his own, drawing his attention down to their clasped hands for the first time. "I want to be here," Arthur told Eames seriously, not pulling his hand away. "There's nowhere I'd rather be."

"But..." Eames bit his bottom lip and winced a second later as he reopened the cut there. Arthur watched for a second as dark red blood began to trickle down Eames' chin, and then he reached over to the bedside table to grab a tissue. He stood up and with his free hand he gently wiped away the blood, holding the tissue there for another few moments until the cut began to clot again. The entire time their other hands remained joined, their eyes locked.

"Do try to take care of yourself," Arthur told Eames when he threw the bloody tissue out and sat back down. "You've been through more than enough already." Eames looked at Arthur sharply, eyes wide, and Arthur swallowed. "The nurse explained what they know to me."

He saw Eames' throat constrict as he swallowed thickly, more tears rolling down his battered face as Eames glanced away again. "They ruined me," Eames said brokenly, one sob escaping before he forced himself into silence. However, the silence in the room was not enough to hide the way Eames' body shook with contained sobs again.

Arthur held Eames' hand as tightly as he dared and stood up, turning Eames' face to him. "Only if you let them," he insisted firmly. "Don't let them."

Eames released another choked-off sob. "I'm disgusting."

"You are no such thing," Arthur promised, and with utmost care – watching for any sign of Eames getting scared or overwhelmed – Arthur slowly leaned down to press their lips together. The kiss tasted of salt and copper but it still managed to calm both of them, the vice grip of their clasped hands loosening. Arthur remained motionless for a few more moments, wanting Eames to feel that Arthur was not second-guessing his decision. Truthfully Arthur was incredibly nervous, but he knew that this was what he wanted.

He finally pulled away and sat down again, though their hands never let go. Arthur watched Eames bring his free hand up to his lips, fingers trembling as they touched his swollen lip. Eames' eyes were on Arthur, reading him a way only a Forger could. "I don't understand," Eames said. "After our last job I asked you to get a drink and you turned me down."

Arthur shrugged, hoping he had the right words to explain when he himself had only started to realize what he felt for Eames, and understand that it was _worth_ labelling. "Sometimes we only realize what is important to us when we nearly lose it." Nervous but without hesitation, Arthur lifted their twined hands and kissed the back of Eames' hand. "I'm just sorry it took this for me to realize." His anger was building up into a tightly-coiled ball in the pit of his stomach again and he felt his jaw clenching. "I'll track them down. They'll pay."

"They will," Eames agreed, though his pain and fear weakened his conviction. For now, Arthur was happy being Eames' pillar. "But for now I need you to let it go." Arthur looked up sharply at those words. Eames' gaze softened and he beckoned Arthur closer. Arthur leaned closer and allowed Eames to slip his free fingers through Arthur's loose-hanging hair – he hadn't gelled his hair back in his own apartment. The brush of Eames' fingers through his hair and across his scalp sent a pleasant shiver through Arthur's body, effectively untangling the ball of anger and helping him release that contained fury. "Right now I need you here, with me."

Arthur reached up and caught Eames' other hand, pressing a kiss to his palm before leading his hand back down to the mattress; he would not draw attention to Eames' shaking limbs but he would make sure Eames didn't push himself and hurt himself further. "I'll be here," Arthur promised.

"For how long?" Eames asked shyly, fingers twitching noticeably against Arthur's own.

"Forever," Arthur responded. And heart fluttering in his chest, Arthur pressed another tender kiss to Eames' lips.

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